Chronicles of a WeatherInclined Superheroine
by Menerothiel
Summary: Kerri is a new freshman at Sky High, with the ability of manipulation weather. This is her story, and her interaction with the characters at Sky High, set in a series of short chapters.
1. Power Placement

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Sky High. I do own Kerri.

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**Chronicles of a Weather-Inclined Superheroine**

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**Power Placement**

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I waited near the edge of the group. I didn't want to get to know them, didn't want to learn their names and powers and faces. I'd rather sit in the shadows and hide.

No such luck.

Coach Boomer calls me up. I almost refuse. But the hippie-girl, the redhead, refused, and was dumped into Sidekick class. I don't want to go there. I've seen how the Sidekicks chosen are treated, the outcasts of the school. There are no Jocks and Cheerleaders, Goths and Geeks. There are only two cliques here: Heroes and Sidekicks.

I step up onto the platform, giving Coach Boomer the heaviest stare I can muster. He almost quails, and I smile. He thinks I'm being nice, and nods in return. I don't correct him.

"Well? Get moving, girlie."

I raise my hand. The air thickens, and I can smell sulfur, and the clean scent of rain.

Lightning cracks overhead, and a thin strip dances over my palm, electric blue-white. Shadows hollow out Coach Boomer's face, turning him into a skin-stretched skull. I smile again, and release the lightning.

It cracks into the ground a foot from his sneakers, leaving a scorch mark the size of my hand. Coach Boomer nods again, seemingly unfazed.

"Hero."

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A/N: Kerri is an OC of mine. I thought it might be a good idea to create the events of Sky High from the view of an outsider. 


	2. Gossip

**Chronicles of a Weather-Inclined Superheroine**

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**Gossip**

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I'm sitting near the front, in view of over half the class. I hate it.

Mr. Medulla is standing in the front; I can see each and every blue vein that stretches up the side of his head. It reminds me of the blue-white lightning I clasped between my fingers just days ago, and I recreate the strip, playing it around my fingers the way tricksters will play with coins.

"Miss Johnson! If you would _please_ put out that lightning! The classroom is no place to be messing with your powers!"

Mr. Medulla is staring at me, along with the rest of the class, and I feel my face heat up. I was once described as blushing to the effect of dousing my head in tomato juice, and I feel that way now, as blood rushes to my cheeks and forehead. I _hate_ attention—especially the bad kind.

"Sorry," I say, and the lightning winks out. I feel sad—lightning doesn't judge people. It just plays, deadly and beautiful, and gives no notice of anything else. I like that.

The girls behind me giggle. I force myself not to look back. They don't understand—I have lightning in my blood. I don't care if they titter about me, or write notes gossiping about the strange girl who holds thunder in her hands.

I don't care.

I don't care.

I…care.

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A/N: And there's the second chapter, folks. More to come up, I promise, but until summer break gets here I'm pressed for time. Ciao! 


	3. Partners

**Chronicles of a Weather-Inclined Superheroine**

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**Partners**

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I have a new partner. 

Mrs. Kilo is my Literature teacher. She has assigned a project—read ten short stories, and analyze each of them. Then, write what could have happened afterward the events of the story.

I am bored already.

Being pushed up to Advanced Literature is not as fun as I expected. Mrs. Kilo is boring, dry as dust. She makes Shakespeare sound like an author of children's books; turns Steven King into R. L. Stine.

And she has partnered me with Warren Peace.

I don't hate him… I am wary. The other students pull me aside, holding my arm like we have been friends for years, whispering with lips glossed and plumped to stereotypical perfection. I feel small.

_Watch out, _they whisper, eyes darting to and fro like magpies, searching out all bits of shiny gossip. _He's trouble. Don't turn your back, don't follow him anywhere. _I pull away, shaking my head.

They chatter behind me when I sit down, craning my head to see past a curtain of red-streaked hair.

"Hello."

I get nothing in response, just a quick nod and glance. I don't mind. It's nice, this quiet, with the rustle of pages to fill in the blanks. The girls are shrieking, boys laughing, all around the little bubble we have formed. Sitting beside this Warren Peace, I have ceased to exist.

I like that.

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A/N: Well, you can expect updates to happen every week, unless I put up that I won't be able to. FYI, this is going to got through most of the events at Sky High, with little filler pieces. Hope I don't dissapoint. 


	4. Apperance

**Chronicles of a Weather-Inclined Superheroine**

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**Appearance**

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I'm hiding in a toilet stall, waiting for the girls to leave.

It's Gwen and Penny, chattering away as they reapply lip gloss and powder, masking their faces into the perfect image. I can only just understand them, their voices warped and reflected off of tiled walls and floors.

"Did you see her this morning? Like she didn't even try and make herself decent."

"I know! And that hair—it's like she hardly ever brushes it! I bet she has lice; just you wait, when Spex makes us test. She'll come out all teary and trying to hide the medicine shampoo in her sweatshirt."

"That would be the only thing to make a curve there!"

They cackle, and leave. I open the door, not making a sound. My shoes are also silent, treading with all the promised quietness of the commercial. I stand in front of the mirror.

Blond hair, short and wild, pale locks sticking out like the wild branches of blackberry bushes.

Grey eyes, the color of rain clouds, rimmed with the darker grey of a thunderhead.

Pale and pointed face, like a rat's, lips model-full and so out of place I almost giggle.

I step back—baggy shirt concealing a flat chest, jeans dragging over dirty tennis shoes.

_Am I really that bad? There is worse, isn't there?_

I make a ball of lightning, breathing in the sulfur-rain scent, holding it close to my chest. Lightning is beautiful, and reassuring. It doesn't care what people say. The threads of my shirt smoke, and I pull back, frowning. A grey streak mars the cloth.

_Damn. _

The bell rings, and I run my fingers through my hair, trying to make it lay flat.

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A/N: Hey! We finally get an idea of what Kerri looks like now! In this chapter, I was trying to make a point of how other's opinions really do make a difference to people, even if they say that it doesn't matter. Reviews are appreciated! 


	5. Bullies

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**Chronicles of a Weather-Inclined Superheroine

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**Bullies

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I am sitting under a tree, on the far side of the grassy commons. Students are chattering and laughing a distance away, as bright and happy as if the world had been made of jewels.

Two boys are laughing the loudest, snickering at the students who trip and fall. The one with the black-and-white shirt, who stretches like snakes, is the one who trips them. I shrink back into the gnarled old bark of the tree and hope they don't notice the skinny little girl all alone.

They notice.

"Hey girlie, what'cha doing over here?" The fat one is munching on a pudding cup. He probably stole it. "Nobody want to be around you?"

They laugh, and I fume. I_ don't want to be around _them_. Get your facts straight, boy-o._

The skinny one, who would be cute if he wasn't so mean, stretches out his arm and pokes my shoulder. "What? Cat got your tongue?"

I crackle. Clouds form over my tree, thicker than they should have, even this high in the air, and the bullies step back, looking scared. I feel my skin tighten, the air thick with energy.

"Uh…we'll just be going now." The fat one spins, faster than I can see, and blurs away into the crowd of magpie-gossips. _Super speed. _The skinny one cocks a grin, trying to hold onto his last bit of self-assurance, and hurries after, not nearly as fast until he stretches his arms out to grasp hold of columns and trees.

I pull the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and curl up, the sparks in my hair smoking and singeing the weave and woof until I can calm down.

I don't _like_ bullies.

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A/N: I know this is a day later than normal, but I've been busy this weekend. I wasn't really liking this chapter, but I wanted an encounter with Kerri and some others. But I do love Lash and Speed. They're so funny! Feedback is appreciated. 


	6. Storm

**Chronicles of a Weather-Inclined Superheroine

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**Storm

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The roof of the gymnasium is flat, perfect for what I need.

The other students cower, beaten down into quivering pieces of flesh and bone and blood from this mighty thing.

On the ground, in my home, I would stand on the tops of trees and bare hillocks, pulling down as much of a storm as I could. Here, in this floating Laputa, I am not beneath a storm, seeing only what it chooses to drop.

I am _inside _it, breathing in each and every crack of lightning and thunder, every raindrop singing in my blood.

My sweatshirt lies in a forgotten puddle by my feet, burned half-away from the first crunch and spark of the lightning that zaps through my fingers and hair like cloth-of-gold.

Thunder rumbles, and I feel it in my ears, my breastbone, the tips of my fingers and toes.

The teachers are outside now, telling me to come down. Principal Powers' is the only one not yelling. I think she understands why I have to be out here, in this storm of storms. Coach Boomer is trying to get close to me, but I crackle lightning at him, and he leaps back, baseball cap blown away by winds.

I spin, pulling rain and wind and lightning into a cyclone that eats away at the concrete beneath my feet and I can hear every zing of lightning, every patter of a raindrop, every booming drum roll of thunder.

I am the storm.

I laugh, and open my arms to myself.

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A/N: Okay, I really like this chapter.I don't know why, but it's one of my favorites.

**_Help! S.O.S! _**

**_Save My Story!_**

I am in desperate need of inspiration for upcoming chapters. My little plot bunny has taken a break from chattering at me, and soI am left with the dregs of my brain for chapter ideas. Please, if there is anything you would like to see happen to Kerri, say so. I don't care if it's one idea or one hundred, just clickeh the little review button and all will be well.

**_Thank you!_**


	7. Sanctuaries

**Chronicles of a Weather-Inclined Superheroine**

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**Sanctuaries**

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My room has many windows, each of them showing a different view. The one directly across from my bed shows the little pond full of weeds and goldfish at the edge of the backyard. The one next to the desk opens into a maple tree—I do mean _into_. The branches crawl inside my room whenever I open it.

My favorite window is the skylight above my bed. It is large and square, giving me a clearer view than any television screen. I lie on my bed during cloudy days and match the clouds to people and things.

During storms, I open up the window and sit on the roof, wrapping myself in rain and lightning.

I don't really like inviting people over to my house, even for school things. From what I remember, before my powers bloomed, all the girls that came over would race to my room, as if it were some strange exciting thing to be discovered.

(I remember, their faces were disappointed with the plain green walls; simple decoration and furnishings. Did they want pink and ruffles, bright day-glo things reeking of perfume and preteen makeup?)

There are pots of flowers my mom grows on the windowsill. Big bright things, morning-glory and petunia and small pink roses, almost glowing against the plain walls. She says that she puts them there because all the other rooms are full. I don't mind. I like them; I like waking early and watching as the petals unfurl to the first sunrays that trickle past the windowpane.

It's kind of nice, seeing them when I wake up, like a little visual reminder of the curled brown head in the room below mine, listening to the radio when she gets dressed.

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**A/N: **I am so, so sorry to have left this hanging for so long. Plot bunnies assulted me, leading to a rash of one-shots (some have been put up here), and a complete disinterest in this. I got myself back on the bandwagon, but it did take some thunking and a chocolate chocolate chip cookie with nuts to get me going. 

As a special present, I will be putting up a double post, so make sure you read them both! This one is short, yeah, but the next is longer.

I hope you didn't all go away...

((sniffle))


	8. Beach

**Chronicles of a Weather-Inclined Superheroine **

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**Beach **

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When I was eleven years old, my family took a summer trip to the Alabama beach. There had been storms, right before we came, and pieces of trash and debris had been strewn along the beaches and streets. Piles of red seaweed lay in thick, humping masses, like stringy Loss Ness', huge and crawling with crabs and sand fleas.

The days were bright and sunny; I burned my shoulders and nose, and the part in my hair. I remember crying because I couldn't sleep, every spot on my skin itched and burned with a rub of the coarse cotton sheets.

I finally stumbled out of bed, standing on the tiny balcony in my pajamas to cool off. Clouds had moved in, deep blue and black thunderheads that promised rain. I could smell it in the air; a smooth, silky coolness against burned skin and light-sore eyes. Our hotel was right across from the beach, and I could see the waves rise up and down, pulling with the unbreakable tide.

A fine frizz of rain was falling now, in sheets that gathered on plants and car-tops like dew, before running off into strings of clear pearls. A few hung on my eyelashes, and my world was helter-skelter in dividing views of upside-down and right side up.

I can't remember getting across to the edge of the beach. It was late, and no cars were on the road in this weather (I was crazy to go outside, that close to the waves). I just have this flash, a break-point of clear memory.

I am standing in the foamy drizzle of rain and wave, my pants soaked to the knee with brine and my shirt draped through with rainwater. Everything looked giant: the palm trees bent low, the clouds rolling over each other, the waves crashing and breaking at my feet with the stone-crushing power that formed the very sand beneath me.

I remember holding up my hand as if trying to pinch off a piece of cloud like cotton candy, a quick twist of stormy gray spun of water and oxygen instead of sugar. I felt happy, that sort of carnival tiredness that comes after a long day of fun. My fingers are holding a small piece of gray cotton candy, sputtered through with winking points of light like the clumped grains of sugar I just _knew_ would be there.

I pop it in my mouth, smiling the widest I can ever remember, and feel my hair rise up, feel the water on my legs fizzing with some then-unknown power.

My parents found me when they woke up, curled on the small rug beside the balcony, the salt on my clothes and skin already drying in the clear, after-storm sunshine.

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**A/N:** As promised, a surprise double update. I was trying to give you a little more as to how her powers developed. Yes, to all those who said it, there will be interaction with other students as well. That's coming up soon enough. 

Hope you liked it!


	9. Buddy

**Chronicles of a Weather-Inclined Superheroine**

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**Buddy**

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My seat at the corner table in the cafeteria is quieter than most, because most of the students avoid this area. The air conditioning ducts open above these tables, so just the students who really, really don't mind the cold sit here. I have my sweatshirt, and whatever hot lunch is being served, so I make it.

A clatter across from me catches my attention, since not too many people want to sit with the girl who doesn't talk back. A slender, pretty redhead is sitting across from me, her tray filled with some vegetable stuff, some noodles—the latter noticeably devoid of the meat sauce they're serving. She's vaguely familiar.

"Hi there," she says, beaming. "My name's Layla Williams. I noticed you were sitting alone; do you mind if I sit here?"

_Oh, right! The girl who refused Power Placement. Stronghold's almost-girlfriend. _

I shake my head, maintaining my silence. I really, _really _don't want to deal with some bright, syrupy flower child. Any minute now, she'll either start chattering about boys, or makeup (for someone so upset by labels, she's wearing a lot of it), or try and drag me into some study group.

Oh hey, a surprise. Williams just smiles again and eats her food, completely disregarding the normal activity of talking. It's not all that bad, really. She's not chattering, or staring, or making stupid comments about my gender like the six-armed boy from Mad Scientist.

Maybe I could get used to this.

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**A/N: **For some reason, the dividers aren't working, so I had to use the little dashes and o's. I was a little surprised at the small number of reviews I got for the last chapters-- i hpe you just haven't had time to review, and aren't mad at me! Updates will not be weekly, like they had been, because Kerri is being an awful muse, sitting in her corner while I try and introduce people. Not to worry, there is going to be more interaction with Warren soon!

Please, even if all you have to say is a "Good job!", review. It really gets me writing when people let me know they are actually reading this. Constructive critisism is nice, too, so please! Review!


	10. Cook

**Chronicles of a Weather-Inclined Superheroine**

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**Cook**

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My spatula pokes at the frying pan, a tentative movement. Apparently, even aspiring superheroes need to learn basic skills. So, my hero class was given the 'surprise' of a Home Economics lesson instead of our Mad Scientist one (Medulla wasn't happy).

I had just grabbed what I could, trying to escape from the mad rush-crush, and ended up with eggs, hot dogs, and some condiments like ketchup and cheese.

I think I added too much oil to the pan—it's brown and bubbly, sliding around like some gross sludge from a pit of primordial ooze. Oil is oil, though, and I quickly dump the bowl of beaten eggs onto the simmering metal surface.

Ouch.

Several drops of oil splatter out on my bare arms (it's too warm today for a sweater), hissing slightly against my skin. The eggs are cooking too fast, bubbling like the oil that's currently turning the edges of the eggs a slimy tan color. I scrub at my skin with a towel, the burns reducing to a faint tingle before disappearing. I lower the flame as quickly as I can, trying to save my food. The small bits of hot dog are added, as well as cheese, and some tomatoes from the condiments. It's looking all right now; even if the oil has splattered around the pan, my eggs are turning brown, and I've discovered I really, _really _don't like cooking.

Mr. All American Boy is on the other side of the room, preoccupied with Lash reaching over and sabotaging other projects. Speed, surprisingly, is quiet, cooking his…things… with ease.

I tap my fingers on the stove top, being extra careful to stay free of any kind of sparks. Mine is a gas stove, one of the older models, and I know very well the effects of electricity and gas. I have no wish to blow the next three consecutive people and myself up in a fiery blitzkrieg.

Behind me, Warren Peace is coolly mixing several unidentified items together. Mr. Boy is casting wary looks his way. Earlier, a few boys laughed at the feared pyrokinetic doing something as domestic as _cooking_. But they shut up when he calmly blew a fireball the size of my head onto the stove to light it. The fact that he's using flaming fingers instead of a spoon to stir/cook his project might be cause for wariness as well.

I lower the flame a little more, stalling for time, leaning heavily on my left hip. I nudge the eggs around a little, trying to separate the burned bits from the good parts…

"What are you making?"

I jump at the unexpected voice, and teeter, off balance. My hand reaches out to the stove, grabbing the edge—and a slim spark jumps from thumb to forefinger. It's small, but just enough to make the nightmare a reality.

Mr. Boy looks up from the shelf he was hiding behind, giving incredulous looks to the exploded stove, splattered food, and crispy-looking Warren Peace and me, standing in front, me guilty and Warren shocked.

"Man," some kid says, picking ash from his hair, "you really can't do anything right, huh Peace?"

Warren hits him.

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**A/N: **Well, this is actually a long(er) chapter. I didn't mean for it to get this long, but I couldn't find anyplace that I couls cut some stuff out. I hope you like it!

The next chapter should be out in about a week, this time. Please review, even if it's just a "good job". Reviews really help me get writing, and let me know that there ARE people who read this.


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